Tuppence
by storm101
Summary: "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." Hebrews 13:2, King James Bible  1611 . Crossover with Mary Poppins. Yes, you read that right. No, it's not crack. Character Death warning, but not sad, I think.


_A/N: First of all, thank you very much for even clicking on this link. I know that it seems a slightly ridiculous combination, but I like to think that it makes sense. There are quite a few things that I'd like to explain about this story, would like to justify, but I'm trying to let the things I write speak for themselves more. So, instead, simply thank you, reader, for being a reader. _

"Tuppence! Tuppence to feed the birds! Tuppence, for a bag of feed!"

A trembling voice, cracked with age, called across the square. It had been there every day for decades, first young and bright and cheerful, and though it had grown old as its owner had, it had never lost a note of cheer. The owner of the voice was settled at the bottom of the cathedral steps, in a corner out of the wind and bright sun. The woman smiled to her birds, amused as one particularly impertinent pigeon settled itself into her hat.

"Buy my crumbs, sir! Feed the birds, for a tuppence."

The woman sighed and rearranged the small burlap sacks in the wicker basket beside her, picking one out and scattering crumbs across the ground in front of her. It was almost immediately set upon by half a dozen birds, and she shook her head. "Eat, my friends… be grateful for what you have."

"May I buy a bag?" a soft voice asked from above her, and she turned, looking up. It was a youngish man, no older than thirty-five, smiling and walking down the steps behind her. He held up a couple of coins, and the old woman nodded, the crumbs and the change switching hands.

The birds were just as eager to get food from the newcomer as from their old friend, and he laughed quietly as one adventurous pigeon stalked arrogantly nearer. He tossed the crumb to it and watched it gobble the morsel down. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

"Not at all," the old woman agreed, gesturing to the space beside her with one wrinkled hand. The blond scattered another few crumbs, and the two sat in silence for a while, watching the birds peck along the ground.

"You come here everyday, don't you," the man said finally. It wasn't a question, though the old woman nodded. "I walk by every so often, and I've never seen you miss a day, even when it's snowing or raining."

"I've nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. My husband died years ago, leaving me childless."

"You could sell crumbs anywhere in London," the blond pointed out, his blue eyes staying on the birds. "There are other squares, other plazas…"

"But only one Saint Paul's," the woman contradicted with a quiet smile. It was returned.

"But only one Saint Paul's," he agreed, casting another handful of bread to the birds.

There was another long pause, silent but for soft coos and the occasional flutter.

"You've inspired a lot of people, you know," he said suddenly. "Many children have begged tuppence from their sisters and brothers and nannies, have saved change in the hopes of feeding your birds."

The old woman smiled and settled back into the steps, drawing her shawl tighter about her shoulders. "I'm sure I haven't done that much," she said softly. "The birds live off charity as much as I do. The world has those it forgets."

"The world, perhaps, but never God," the man reminded her. "And above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness," the man said quietly, pushing himself to his feet. "Colossians, chapter three, verse fourteen. The world can always use more charity… But you have done your part, Jane. Are you ready to go?"

The old woman stared at the young man beside her, startled. She hadn't heard her name spoken in years… "How did you…?" she started quietly, but then the man smiled at her again and she realised she didn't need to ask. Hebrews, wasn't it? The second verse of chapter thirteen.

There hadn't been a question, but the angel nodded anyway.

She was standing as he was, straight and tall and in no pain for the first time in decades. Quietly, the woman looked out over the square, at the people moving back and forth on their ways to work, before turning around towards the steps.

The birds seemed to be the only beings who noticed that the woman was dead. One one-legged pigeon was bumping worriedly at her hand, and she bent down and stroked transparent fingers along its collar. The feathers were stirred briefly, as if by a light breeze, and she straightened again.

"For what it's worth, Ms. Darwell… I'm sorry," the angel said, resting an insubstantial hand lightly on an equally insubstantial shoulder.

She nodded thoughtfully, raised her chin with a smile and turned to face the angel fully. "I'm ready to go," she said, her voice young and bright and cheerful again, as her spirit always had been. The angel nodded, a small smile stealing across his face before he stepped forward, taking her hand and kissing her forehead gently.

The woman closed her eyes on white, soft feathers, and her spirit dissipated with a quiet rustle of wind.

Aziraphale opened his eyes with a sigh, still sitting on the step. He'd never stood, only left his human body for a few moments. The angel scattered the last few bread crumbs on the ground, upending the bag to ensure it all got out.

"…Requiescat in pace, Ms. Jane," he murmured, folding the small burlap bag into quarters and sliding it into his pocket. "You have done your part."

_Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. _**Hebrews 13:2, King James Bible (1611). **


End file.
